


No Matter the Season

by agapi42



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-10-26 09:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agapi42/pseuds/agapi42
Summary: Hecate's first few months at Cackle's are brightened by one Ada Cackle.





	No Matter the Season

Hecate started work at Cackle’s in April, an emergency replacement for a potions teacher who had developed a nasty case of witch pox. It could take up to three months to fully recover, for a witch’s magic to re-stabilise, and the disruption to the girls’ education had to be minimised while they prepared for the upcoming exams. So Hecate arrived, not expecting to stay long and determined not to become attached. 

Cackle’s was bathed in sunshine when she first arrived. Nowhere was that sunshine better personified than in Ada Cackle, Spell Science teacher and Headmistress-in-waiting. Spring and summer suited her, as warm and as pretty as a flower opening towards the sun.

The first time Hecate caught the thought, she remonstrated with herself. It was impossible to deny, though. Ada Cackle was beautiful and her every smile and little kindness melted Hecate’s resolve to remain reserved, just a little. Not that it mattered: she wasn’t staying.

June brought with it the news that her predecessor had opted to retire. Hecate had found the school and herself well suited: offered a permanent post at such a prestigious place, of course she accepted. Miss Cackle beamed as bright as anything. 

By September there was a new group of first years, girls she helped select, and as far as they were concerned, she’d always been there. 

In October, Miss Cackle put her head around the classroom door at lunchtime as Hecate finished clearing up after the class and asked if she’d like to discuss the arrangements for Halloween—Hecate’s first there—and take a walk in the grounds while doing so. After all, it was a beautifully clear day.

Hecate readily agreed.

At one point, a large oak leaf descended from a tree and nestled in Miss Cackle’s hair, flaming red against the chestnut curls.

Hecate pointed it out: Miss Cackle’s fingers found it and she laughed, twirling it as they continued on their way.

* * *

It’s the first day of December when Hecate, returning from a weekend trip to obtain potion ingredients, finds herself flying into a blizzard. The wind whips the snow into her face: visibility is near zero. She presses on. She’s a good twenty minutes from the castle; she’ll worry if she can’t see it by then.

It seems like the wind calms the moment she sees the light straight ahead. For a moment, she thinks it’s light from a window but she’s too high up for that to be directly in front of her. As she draws closer, she can see that it’s apparently unsupported, a glowing globe floating in empty air with the castle a dark shape behind and below. This is a beacon and she thinks she can—already—recognise the magic.

Hecate points her broomstick downwards and descends. Standing directly below the beacon is Miss Cackle; her face, tilted upwards, is pale in the distant light. 

Hecate lands next to her. 

“Thank you, Miss Cackle.”

Miss Cackle turns her head and smiles. “Not at all, Miss Hardbroom.” 

Hecate hesitates. Miss Cackle is still looking at her, still smiling, and she wants to offer more. “Are you coming in?”

“Not just yet.” Miss Cackle turns back to the sky. “I do so enjoy the first snowfall.”

Hecate nods—she doesn’t know if Miss Cackle sees—and heads into the castle.

She’s back in ten minutes, having sent her purchases to her room and paid a visit to the kitchen. She carries two mugs of tea, proper tea, the better to warm themselves.

Miss Cackle seems absorbed in catching snowflakes on her tongue but she opens her eyes as Hecate stops next to her.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hecate allows herself to say and forces herself to look away from Miss Cackle while her mind’s eye dwells on the snowflakes caught in her hair and the serenity of her expression. Miss Cackle takes purer joy in things than anyone Hecate has ever known.

Even the tea. She takes the proffered mug from Hecate’s hand and makes a small pleased sound at her first sip.

“Thank you, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Not at all, Miss Cackle.”

Standing there in silence and watching the snowflakes dance and descend on a place that might well be her home, Hecate admits just to herself that Ada Cackle brightens her every day, no matter the season.


End file.
